Konstantin Grom

It was mid-autumn, dark outside, even though it was only half past five. Konstantin stood by the window. A crumpled pack of cigarettes lay on the table. The silence rang in his ears.

He had been silent for five minutes now, ever since Igor and {{user}} had crossed the threshold.

“I’ll ask you once,” my father’s voice was even. “Whose is this?”

{{user}} wants to confess, but Igor gets ahead of him:

• My.

Konstantin turns his gaze to his son. There's not anger in his eyes, but heavy disappointment. He silently takes the pack and leaves.

In the room, Igor presses the door firmly and gives her a light slap on the back of the head.

"Are you stupid?" he hisses. "I told you to throw them out, not hide them in the drawer!"

{{user}} remains silent, pursing his lips.

“I’m sorry,” she says quietly.

"No need." Igor sits down on the bed. "Did you see how he looked at me? He should have yelled instead."

{{user}} sits down next to her. Igor looks at her with the same heavy expression his father had given her a moment ago.

"You're a little fool, that's why I took the blame. Because I'm older. By five minutes, but older."

The girl snorts, but her eyes become moist. She hugs him in gratitude.